


i wasn't looking for this

by mayerwien



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Pocahontas (1995), Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, disney and non-disney crossover hell, kids hanging out while sitting in the grass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/mayerwien
Summary: In which Kocoum is dragged to Rapunzel’s college org event, gets a rainbow painted on his face, and makes a new friend.





	i wasn't looking for this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strikinglight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight/gifts).



> This is short and silly and based on absolutely nothing other than 30 seconds of a Disney/non-Disney crossover MEP set to “Better Than I Know Myself” by Adam Lambert, and everything that spun off from that thanks to Meg’s and my own rapidly firing rarepair-shippy neurons. Are you even surprised anymore because I’m not.
> 
> Title from “Call Me Maybe” because WHAT ELSE WOULD I USE, HONESTLY,

Kocoum isn’t sure why he allowed himself to be dragged to this event, when he isn’t even part of the organization that runs it. But Rapunzel-from-the-fourth-floor-dorm is, and she thinks Kocoum needs to get out more, and she’s nothing if not scarily persistent.

“You’re coming to Gleam and Glow Day,” she told him one morning last week, while she was busy scrambling eggs for an omelette in the kitchen.

Kocoum lowered his coffee mug. “I am?”

“Yup,” Rapunzel said cheerily, popping the P as she sprinkled pepper into her bowl. “And then to Floating Lights Night right after.”

Kocoum glanced uneasily to where Pascal, Rapunzel’s pet chameleon, was sitting on the carton of milk and glowering. (Kocoum hardly ever sees the two of them apart; he has a feeling Rapunzel secretly hides Pascal in the pocket of her hoodie and brings him to all her classes.) “But I have to study,” Kocoum said, reaching for the milk. Pascal hissed, and he withdrew his hand speedily.

Rapunzel pointed her frying pan warningly at him. “You’ve been hopping up and down the top ten rungs of the dean’s list ever since the first semester of freshman year, so _no,_ you don’t. We start on Saturday at 9 AM. Wear bright colors.” With that, she dumped her eggs into the frying pan, stirring them while humming to herself, and Kocoum was fairly sure that the discussion was Over with a capital O.

Contrary to Rapunzel’s beliefs, Kocoum doesn’t think of himself as antisocial. He’s just comfortable with eating and going to the library and doing laps around the oval alone. Silence is never an awkward thing for him, the way he knows it is for some people—Kocoum often thinks it’s necessary, and more meaningful sometimes than words could ever be.

In spite of this, he has to admit, the noise and laughter of Gleam and Glow Day isn’t so bad. The hospital outreach org reserved the whole soccer pitch and put up tents and a stage. The patients from the pediatric ward fly kites, and get free ice cream, and have their faces painted by the student volunteers, while Rapunzel’s boyfriend Eugene emcees and blasts pop music from the speakers. (Eugene moonlights as a disc jockey on their university’s radio station, albeit under the alias DJ Flynn Rider for some unknown reason. Rapunzel rolls her eyes whenever she hears him say it on the air, and he says it a _lot.)_

The sky is unnaturally blue today, like in a cartoon, and there’s a nice breeze, so Kocoum is content to simply stand in the middle of the field and let the kids climb him like a tree. In between, he scrolls through his feed on his phone, looking at the pictures of the girls’ rowing camp that Pocahontas and Nakoma are coaching at UVA. (He still worries about Pocahontas sometimes, but knowing Nakoma’s there to be her voice of reason makes him only marginally less worried.) Kocoum diligently likes every photo in both of their albums, and then comments _“Looks like you’re having fun. Don’t forget to wear your life vests.”_

Pocahontas replies immediately, because somehow she’s always online even with her fifty billion extracurriculars—with a GIF of Heath Ledger as the Joker. Kocoum doesn’t even have to ask what she means by that.

“Come _on,_ Koco.” Rapunzel grabs his arm and tugs as though she actually has the strength to get him to move. “You have to get more into the spirit of today. Also, I said to wear bright colors.”

“That’s not my name,” Kocoum protests, "and gray _is_ a color," but he pockets his phone and lets himself be pulled in the direction of the face-painting tent, because he’s already resigned himself to the fact that he has no control over his life anymore.

Leading him down the row, Rapunzel pushes Kocoum firmly into the empty plastic chair at the very end. “You are not leaving this seat until you have a rainbow _and_ a smile on your face,” she says, then looks up and frowns when she sees what one of the other org members is doing outside. “What’s he attaching to Melody’s wheelch—TADASHI, NO, I SAID NO ROCKET-POWERED ANYTHINGS,” she yells and dashes away, her mass of hair streaming out behind her as she leaves Kocoum to his fate.

Kocoum sighs and turns to the face-painting artist—then feels his heart give a strange, sideways thump in his chest when he sees who it is. It’s a boy with long dark hair in two loose braids down his shoulders, and he’s wearing jeans and a paint-splattered neon green tank. He’s busy wiping a paintbrush off on a rag, but then he looks up and does a double take when he sees Kocoum sitting in front of him. “Oof,” the boy says. “You okay?”

Kocoum blinks. “What?”

“Oh, sorry. You um, you looked kind of down.” The boy rubs the side of his neck, not appearing to notice that he’s leaving blue and red smudges there in the process.

“I—no, that’s just my face.” Kocoum knows he’s not the most expressive person in the world, but when they were growing up, Nakoma and Pocahontas and everyone else always just _got_ what he was feeling. It’s only when he got to college that he had to start reassuring people he wasn’t angry, or suffering from crippling depression, or about to steal their lunch.

“Ah. Resting bitch face. I get it.” The boy laughs, and the sound sparks an image of sunbeams in Kocoum’s mind. “You ever have Dr. Frollo for theology? He has the same thing. Yours is much more handsome, though.” Lifting his paintbrush, the boy makes a wiggling motion in the air. “So, what’ll it be today?”

“Uh. I’m under strict instructions to get a rainbow, so…a rainbow, I guess.” Kocoum hesitates, then decides what the hell. “Are you—“

“Lakota.” The boy tilts his head and smiles. “You?”

“Pamunkey. Thank god. Sorry, it’s just, I haven’t met anyone else who—“ Kocoum falters.

“Yeah, I know, right?” The boy beams wider, revealing dimples. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me where I’m _‘really_ from.’ And every time I’m just like, _America,_ man—and more so than you, probably.” He dips his brush into the red paint and, scooting his own plastic chair closer to Kocoum’s, leans in and touches the brush to Kocoum’s left cheek. It’s cool, and tickles as he moves it in a gentle, sweeping arch underneath his eye.

“I’m Little Creek, by the way,” the boy says softly.

“Kocoum.” He inhales slowly, cautiously, so as not to disturb Little Creek’s hand.

“Kocoum. What’s your major?”

“Architecture. I’m a junior.” Kocoum curls his fingers inward as Little Creek begins on the orange stripe. “What about you?” he asks, when the real question sticking in his throat, threatening to spill out, is _where have you been this whole time?_

“Whoa. That’s hardcore.” Little Creek pokes his tongue out of the side of his mouth in concentration. “Sophomore. I’m in zoology; art’s just a hobby. But _you_ must be really good at drawing, huh?”

“Not really. It’s not so much drawing as…understanding proportions and things like that.” And it’s true—Kocoum would never call himself an artist, but he knows what it takes to make sturdy walls, and stable foundations, and clean, straight lines.

Little Creek bobs his head. “I respect that,” he says, then falls quiet as he continues to paint; small strokes as he forms each new stripe, careful not to let them overlap. He’s leaned in so close now that Kocoum can feel the edge of his breath on his jaw, and he glances away, not wanting to make eye contact. But he can see in his peripheral vision that as the sun shines through the tent flap, it backlights Little Creek so he’s outlined in gold, and there’s something about it that is making it increasingly harder to breathe.

Kocoum isn’t in the habit of feeling this way.

“You’re not an org member, right?” Little Creek asks. His brush changes paths and starts to sketch out rounder, fluffier shapes—clouds, Kocoum realizes belatedly, at the ends of the rainbow. “Because I’d definitely have remembered you.”

“No, Rapunzel just invited me.” Kocoum clears his throat.

Little Creek shakes out his hand, rotating his wrist. “Oh, well, you should sign up, then! We could always use more people.”

“I don’t think I’m really…good with kids,” Kocoum says uneasily, his eyes drifting back down to the ground. “They’d probably be scared of me.”

“Huh?” Little Creek looks confused, then turns to the little boy sitting in the next chair over. “Hey, Russell, does this guy look scary to you?”

Russell pulls down his hospital mask so he can study Kocoum’s face, then wrinkles his nose. “No, I don’t think he looks scary. He looks like he’s blushing.”

Kocoum makes a small choking noise, but Little Creek has the decency to pretend not to notice either that or the implication of Russell’s comment. “You see? Verdict, not scary. And hey, you’re all done.” He angles a round mirror towards Kocoum so he can see himself. “Looking good, if I do say so myself. You staying for Lights Night?”

“Yes,” Kocoum replies, then blinks, surprised at how certain that sounded coming out.

“Cool.” Little Creek sits back and wipes his hands briskly with his rag, and Kocoum doesn’t even know how to tell him that all that’s doing is getting even more paint on them. “Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Kocoum stands, too fast, knocking his chair over. “Sorry.” He rights the chair quickly, feeling the burning sensation spread right down his neck. “Well, goodbye,” he gets out, and stiff-legs it out of the tent before he can make even more of an embarrassment of himself. He can feel Little Creek (and Russell, now) watching him as he does.

“Someone still doesn’t look like a very happy camper,” Rapunzel remarks when Kocoum meets up with her by the ice-cream cart. Pascal is wrapped all the way around the vanilla cone in her hand, which he is slurping as happily as it is possible for a lizard to look.

Kocoum turns his face and points to where Little Creek painted a big yellow smiley face on his other cheek. “You said to get a rainbow and a smile on my face. So that’s what I did.”

Rapunzel glares up at him. “You are a tall, sneaky man and I hate you.”

Kocoum smiles.

 

As the day winds down, the students sit on picnic blankets in the grass with the kids and their parents, watching the sun set as the spotlights by the stage get turned on for the mini-concert. Eugene kicks it off by playing the guitar; he and Rapunzel smile at each other as they perform an acoustic rendition of “Fix You,” and Eugene’s still wearing the purple and yellow sun that Rapunzel painted on his face earlier, and Kocoum’s eyes are watering, probably from the night wind that’s coming in.

It’s just as the song is ending that Little Creek appears at his elbow in the crowd, holding out an ice-cold can of Pepsi that he must’ve jogged all the way back to the main campus to get. “Found you,” he says, grinning in the half-light, and Kocoum tries and fails to pretend he’s not amazed, and relieved, and just a little bit thrilled.

They sit in the dewy grass and pass the Pepsi can back and forth, waving their arms to shoo away the mosquitoes. The whole time, Little Creek doesn’t say a word—just sways along with the music, sometimes mouthing silently along with the chorus if he knows it. Once, he looks sideways to meet Kocoum’s eyes and smiles, and the unbridled warmth of it makes Kocoum want to reach out and—touch his hand, or punch him in the face, he’s not sure which.

“Do you think it’s strange for someone to have only a few friends?” Kocoum blurts out during a break between acts.

Laughing, Little Creek shakes his head. “You’re talking to someone whose only friend growing up was his horse.”

“Huh.” Kocoum rattles the Pepsi can absently, feeling the dregs slosh around inside. “I never would have guessed that.”

“Yeah, no, it’s true. The other kids thought I was weird, so it was always just me and Rain.” Little Creek pulls his knees to his chest. “But I never minded. Rain never argues about which movie to see, or says ‘no homo,’ or peer-pressures me into drinking five beers I don’t really want to drink. She does chew on my hair, though.” Then he glances at Kocoum. “How many friends do you have?”

“Two,” Kocoum admits. “Three, I guess, if you count Rapunzel.”

“Are you happy with them?”

“Yes,” Kocoum says without hesitation.

“Then that’s all that matters. You’re fine.” Little Creek smiles, then pauses. “You know what I think about, whenever I think about that funny stage of becoming friends with someone…you know that part in _The Little Prince,_ where he tames the fox?” Kocoum nods. “That’s exactly what it’s like, y’know? Just sitting a little bit closer to each other every day.”

Kocoum just nods again, and feels something inside of him uncurl, slowly, and settle.

Then it’s time for everyone to write wishes on the paper lanterns before they release them. Little Creek gets one lantern for the two of them, but Kocoum honestly doesn’t know what to write. “What are you wishing for?” he asks instead.

“Good health and happiness for the kids.” Little Creek scrawls his wishes across his side of the lantern. “For Rain’s foal to be born healthy in the spring. For my grandma to stop smoking, ha.”

Those all seem more worthy of being granted than anything Kocoum can think of right now—so all he writes is, _For everyone else’s wishes to come true,_ and settles back in the grass, relishing the feel of the wet earth beneath his palms. “Okay, guys, is everyone ready?” Eugene says into the mic.

_“Yes,”_ the kids chorus.

“All right, let’s do this! Three—two—one— _blast off!”_

At Eugene’s signal, everyone lets their lanterns go. They drift upwards faster than Kocoum expected they would, borne aloft by the wind. The kids all cheer, and everyone tilts their heads back, watching as they add stars to the sky.

“So I wished for one more thing,” Little Creek says, once the lanterns are nothing more than faint, distant specks in the black.

Kocoum looks at him. “What’s that?”

“You know that café just behind campus? Apparently they have good beignets, and I’ve always wanted to try them—but it’s like, a whole basket of beignets, and I don’t think I could eat all of them by myself.“ Little Creek scratches his knee. “So I um, I wished someone would come with me and help me out.”

Kocoum isn’t sure he knows what a beignet is, and so he tries to make sense of this or why Little Creek is telling this to him, and then just gives up completely. “That’s nice,” he says finally.

Little Creek nudges him. “I actually was talking about you,” he says. “Only if you want to, I mean.”

“Oh.” Kocoum looks up at the vast expanse of the night sky, then back down at the boy sitting beside him, this boy who has paint on his hands and sunlight in his bones, and who Kocoum is finding he wants to sit a little bit closer to, every day. “Then that’s nicer,” he says, and Little Creek laughs, filling up the silence in a way that Kocoum doesn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> (meg ngl the whole time I was writing this I was thinking that if Little Creek were in a hospital outreach org he would be exactly like That Eternally Happy Org Member Friend We Both Have, You Know Which One I’m Talking About HAHAHA)


End file.
